


heart of the matter

by koroshiyas (lucitae)



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/koroshiyas
Summary: the heart of the matter is: some truths are better told.





	heart of the matter

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very stressed. The fic I'm working on won't write itself. I'm never writing something over 10k ever again. So here's something short and not worth anyone's time — including mine.

“Truth or dare?” Minhyun drawls. His cheeks are already flushed from the concoction he had downed for his dare. Judging from the grimace on Minhyun’s face while he had chugged the contents of the red plastic cup, Seongwoo can’t even begin to guess at the types of alcoholic beverages used. The fact that it had been mixed by Minki probably speaks for itself.

Seongwoo is about to say his go to option when he’s met by a  _hyung, you’re so predictable_ and a  _do something else for a change._ Usually, he’d be inclined to do the exact opposite but he’s in a good mood, so he says: “truth.” After all, it’s Minhyun.

Seongwoo settles back in his seat, expression smug.

Minhyun leans forward, elbows balanced on knees as if closing the distance in order to hear an answer to satiate his curiosity.

“Why won’t you hold my hand?”

The room comes to a deafening roar. It’s drowned out by the sound of blood rushing to his head. Seongwoo knows the heat creeping into his cheeks isn’t from the shots he had earlier this evening.

“Can’t I take a shot instead?” Seongwoo tries, reaching for one of the bottles on the table. His hand is batted away before he can even reach one of them and is met with a chorus of boos.

“Oh come on,” someone complains.

“It’s not that hard,” someone else pipes up.

But it is. That’s the problem. It’s why Seongwoo has only allowed himself to guide Minhyun by the elbow. It’s why...

Minhyun’s eyes haven’t left his. Still waiting for his reply as if none of the others in the room exist. A sheen of pink dusts his cheeks, a darker shade than his lips, which are the same shade as the bed of his nails.

Seongwoo has to look away. More individuals pipe up, asking him to hurry up. He swallows.

“I’m afraid you’ll pull away,” Seongwoo says, barely audible.

Someone whistles. Another hollers. Seongwoo hears none of it over his own embarrassment.

“You’re afraid of rejection so you reject me first?” Minhyun’s lips curl in amusement, hands clasping underneath his chin. “Counter intuitive isn’t it?”

Seongwoo remains silent. Reaches towards the table and pours himself another shot.

He can still recall the first time the notion had surfaced into his mind. The first snow of the season. White flecks speckling dark hair, a contrast against tips of the ears that grows red from the cold. So were Minhyun’s fingers. And although Seongwoo’s weren’t much warmer he had wanted to hold the hands between his own ( and continue to do so into spring, beyond summer, past autumn, and for many many winters after that ).

All it takes is a small whisper from the darkest corners to dissipate such thoughts: what if, just _what if_ , Minhyun didn’t feel the same?

So hands stay firmly shoved into pockets.

And every time after that, he tries to prevent hands from brushing, flattening it against his thigh or quickly move them to some other position — in fear that he would hold on. An unwarranted action is uncomfortable and Seongwoo would never want to subject Minhyun to such a thing.

“Seongwoo,” he hears Minhyun call, snapping him out of his thoughts. The conversation had long changed. Someone is organizing a game of beer pong. “Hold out your hand,” Minhyun says, raising his hand as if in anticipation of a high five.

Seongwoo frowns. Not understanding Minhyun’s logic but judging from the way he smiles and how he sways to the music that spills from the speakers, Seongwoo supposes there’s not much left.

“Seongwoo,” Minhyun’s voice drops, a warning, “hold out your hand.”

Seongwoo relents. His hand is about to touch Minhyun’s when Minhyun laces his fingers with Seongwoo’s.

“Now you know,” Minhyun says with a beatific smile, the kind that causes Seongwoo’s heart to stutter in his chest. “I’m never letting go.” And the way Minhyun looks at him causes Seongwoo to forget that this may have been an alcohol infused act Minhyun might have no recollection of come morning. Besides, the heart had never yielded to the mind to begin with.

Seongwoo has to use his other hand to hide how red his face feels, grateful there are no other witnesses around.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love finding alternate explanations to things. I'm other words, I'm sick and tired of Ong's het agenda. Make it gay you cowards.
> 
> I'm sorry for making you read this. You deserve better, dear reader.


End file.
